I didn’t plan it this way. But somehow, this summer unfolded like linen in sunlight — a little wrinkled, a little radiant, full of small stories sewn into space.
I’ve been moving between apartments, construction sites, flower markets, dusty basements, and early-morning site visits. My sketchbook is full, my phone overloaded with texture references, and my hands smell of concrete and peonies.
There were rooms that changed their mood with the light.
Corners that remembered voices.
Tables that gathered people.
Walls that breathed.
Design isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
I keep reminding myself: beauty isn’t the goal. It’s the byproduct of care, curiosity, and clarity.
Things I Learned From an Empty Room
- Light always arrives before furniture.
- Silence can be design too.
- Emptiness is never truly empty.
Some of my favorite moments happened when I stopped trying to make something beautiful, and instead just listened — to the shape of a wall, to the hum of the neighbors, to the weight of the floor beneath bare feet.
Moments Between Deadlines
- A sketch drawn in the margin of a receipt.
- A cup of coffee balanced on a moodboard.
- The way a client says, “This feels like home.”
I call that success.
Even when no one sees it.
“Good interiors are quiet.
Great interiors whisper something only you can hear.”
— Maya Baklan
I walked into a room. There was nothing there but dust and potential. I stayed until it spoke to me. Then I began to draw.
Not just aesthetics. But emotion, movement, rhythm.
A room should feel alive. Not just designed — but lived in, loved, evolving.
I want my spaces to hold memory, possibility, and light.
And I want them to breathe — just like we do.
— Maya
